Dog Soldiers (3 page)

She laughed at him. Her laughter was something soft and satisfying, good to hear.

“
Shit, you
don
’
t
know, do you? You know you want it though, don
’
t you?
”

“
I desire to serve God,
”
Converse said, laughing himself.
“
And to grow rich, like all men.
”
His laughter felt a little too loose in the jaw to suit him.

“
Who said that? Some great hustler of the past?
”

“
I
’
m not sure,
”
Converse said.
“
I think it was Cortez. Maybe it was Pizarro.
”

“
Sounds a little like Irvine,
”
Charmian said. She poured out more water and they went outside on the verandah to drink it.
The rain slackened for a few mo
ments, then came harder. It was a savage, not a sustaining rain. The bright fleshy pl
ants in the garden folded to en
dure it.

“
How
’
s my Colonel Tho?
”
Converse asked.

“
Pretty mellow today. He
’
s got another big deal set up. He
’
s dealing cinnamon now. Hey, you know a lot about tape recorders?
”

“
No,
”
Converse said.
“
Why?
”

“
Tho wants me to tell hi
m what the best kind of tape re
corder is. That
’
s his big thing now. He
’
s gonna find out what all the best things in the world are and he wants one of each.
”

Two old women in
ao dais
ran delicately over the mud beyond the gate, sharing a single white umbrella.

“
What do you think he wants to tape?
”
Converse asked.

“
Who the hell knows? Me, I guess.
”

“
I
’
m glad somebody around here knows what they want.
”

“
Well, Tho knows all right. Then there
’
s Victor Charles. Victor Charles knows.
”

“
Maybe,
”
Converse said.
“
Absolutely,
”
Charmian said firmly. She had a respect

bordering on reverence for the Viet Cong and she did not like to hear their sense of purpose questioned.
“
Like even Tho is kind of an idealist. He used to be a very gung ho soldier at one time.
”

She leaned back in her chair and stretched out her long tanned legs to rest the backs
of her ankles on the porch rail
ing.

“
He
’
s always saying how all the graft and double-dealing pisses him off. He told me once that what this country needs is a Hitler
.”

“
The Vietnamese have a terrific sense of humor,
”
Con verse said.
“
That
’
s what keeps them going.
”

“
He says that if somebody gave him a chance he
’
d like to serve his country like he was trained to do. He figures we corrupted him.
”

“
Tho always says idioti
c things when he talks to Ameri
cans. He
’
s trying to make himself agreeable.
”

Charmian shrugged.
“
People can be corrupted.
”

Converse got out of his chair and went back inside the house. Charmian followed him in. He picked up the brief
case and measured its weight.

“
Just don
’
t get taken off,
”
Charmian said.

He opened the case, took out his plastic anorak and got into it.
“
I
’
m going. I
’
m having dinner with the Percys and I
’
ve got to get a flight down south for tomorrow.
”

“
Tell them hello. And don
’
t look so damn scared.
”
She came up to him as he stood in the doorway and affected to smooth the wrinkles on his plastic raincoat.
“
When we get this cleared we
’
ll get a bunch of us together and fly over to Phnom Penh and get stoned and have a massage.
”

“
That
’
ll be nice,
”
Converse said. He had not been to bed with her for months. The
last time had been after his re
turn from Cambodia; bad things had ha
pp
ened there and he had not had it together.

He saw to it that she did not kiss him goodbye. Walking up the alley to Nguyen Thong, he flexed his free arm to keep his back straight against the weight of the briefcase. So as not to look comical.

Because of the rain, it was a long time before he found a taxi.

“
Every day in this place,
”
Sergeant Janeway said,
“
we en
tertain the weird, the strange, the unusual.
”

They were sitting in the refrigerated offices of JUSPAO, the public affairs office. The walls were government gray; there were no windows. The briefcase rested beside Con verse
’
s chair; rainwater ran from it onto the plastic tiles like an incriminating effusion. Like blood.

“
If I had anything to say,
”
the sergeant went on,
“
we
’d re
ally tighten up our accreditation procedure. We
’
ve got peo
ple around here with
bao chi
cards who are currency crooks, dope smugglers, God knows what. We
’
ve got hip pies coming in from Katmandu who depend on Mac-V for their next meal. Sometimes I feel like a social worker.
”

Sergeant Janeway was the most articulate enlisted man in the American Armed Forces and was thus regarded locally as a sort of
idiot savant
.
He enjoyed the famili
arity and con
descension of the international press corps
’
s celebrities and was able to display toward them an ingratiating manner of extraordinary range. A
ccording to the taste of his in
terlocutor, he could project any manner of deference from the austere courtesy of a samurai to the prole-servility of an antique Cunard cabin steward. To the notables and the men of affairs, Sergeant Janeway was a picturesque menial at the vestibule of inside dope. Converse
’
s relations with him were rather different. From Converse
’
s point of view, Sergeant Janeway was in charge of the war.

“
I don
’
t understand what you want down in My Lat. Nothing
’
s happening down there.
”

“
I happen to think there
’
s a story in the civilians,
”
Con verse said.
“
The merchant seamen and so forth.
”

Sergeant Janeway sat on a corner of his desk, drumming on a wicker basket with a rolled-up copy of The Nation. His haircut, Converse thought, appeared to be the work of a theatrical barber shop.

“
Sounds pretty dull to me,
”
the sergeant said.
“
But of course I
’
m not a journa
list. Which one of your many em
ployers do you think would go for that?
”

“
All of them, I hope,
”
Converse said.
“
Anyway, it
’
s none of your business. You
’
re not a journalist and you
’
re not a critic.
”

Sergeant Janeway smiled.

“
Know how I think of you, Mr. Converse, sir? With all due respect? As a letterhead. Perhaps you
’
re making a valuable contribution to an informed public, but I don
’
t see any evidence of that.
”

“
I
had a piece in the
Irish Messenger
two weeks ago. If you want to find out what we
’
re up to, get your clipping service on the stick.
”

He reached out and brought the briefcase a little closer to his chair.
“
I
’
m accredited to this command. My card is as good as
Time
’
s
and I
’
m entitled to the same courtesy.
”

Sergeant Janeway picked up his telephone.

“
I
’
m sorry you
’
re not satisfied with us,
”
the sergeant said.
“
Personally I
’
m not too satisfied with you. Since there
’
s all this dissatisfaction, maybe yo
u and I should talk to the colo
nel about your accreditation.
”

But the sergeant was not calling the colonel. He was calling Operations to get Converse on the morning run to My Lat. When he had booked the hop, he reminded Con verse to renew his membership in the officers
’
club.

“
They say the beach down there is very nice. I
’
m sure you
’
ll have a terrific time. You better bring some malaria pills though.
”

“
Christ,
”
Converse said. He had forgotten to sign for them at Tansonhut. He looked at his watch; it was after

four. The sick bays would be closed for the weekend and the duty corpsman would no
t issue pills without authoriza
tion from MACV.

Sergeant Janeway looked concerned.
“
I bet you went and forgot.
”
Sergeant Janeway kept a supply of the pills in his office to dispense as a courtesy to his celebrated clients.

“
You better get some somewhere,
”
he told Converse.
“
They have all the nasty strains down there.
”

As it grew dark, there was a time of small rain, a sprinkle between the afternoon
’
s and the night
’
s downpour. Con verse carried the briefcase through the hurrying evening crowds on Le Loi, walking as casually as he could. The weight of the case was ca
using him to sweat even more im
moderately than usual and
his shoulder ached from his ef
fort to adjust his posture.

It was a city of close watchers. The hustlers sat in their open-fronted cafes checking him out, eyeing the briefcase. They did not bother to approach him now; his face had become familiar downtown. His cheap Japanese watch was known throughout the city and shoeshine boys unable to distinguish between round-eyed faces recognized him by its shiny tin band. It was Number Ten. Its lack of distinction sometimes caused him to be insulted in the street, but no one ever tried to grab it.

The watch was his talisman against street snatchers. In all the time he had been in Saigon he had been street-snatched only once, although he knew people who were street-snatched as often as twice a week. Almost a year before, he had lost a briefcase to a Korean in a passing jeep, and the Korean had thereby acquired the collected works of Saint-Exup
é
ry and a Zap comic. In Converse
’
s view, the idea of a Korean soldier reading a Zap comic was worth the loss of the case.

Opposite the flower market he stepped into the maniacal Le Loi traffic, attempting languor and unconcern. It was necessary to appear as though innate good fortune made one invulnerable. History had made the Saigonnais great believers in luck. Unlucky-looking people made them un easy and even tempted so
me to assume the role of misfor
tune. It was as bad as looking comical.